Secrets And Lies Lead To Your Demise
by KimoriShadows
Summary: It's the NATO meeting after the Cuban Missile Crisis, and Alfred's silence has his European allies frustrated. Family-related Alfred/Arthur, hinted Norway/Denmark, FrUK in bonus chapter. Shounen-ai. Slight bad language.
1. Chapter 1

Okay. Deep breaths, Alfred. They might be a bit pissed off, but hell. This was a matter of national security.

Everything turned out good in the end, though, right? Right.

Taking a deep breath, the American pushed open the door labelled "NATO" and stepped into the conference room; what he was met by were just over a dozen glowering faces- and Greece's (somehow also glowering) cat.

Shit.

The silence was unbearable as Alfred waded through it to take his seat.

"R-Right, let's get-" America tried to begin, looking up at the faces fixed on him. His cheery tone tailed off slowly as he avoided each pair of eyes. For once, he was able to sense the atmosphere- it seemed just a little uncomfortable. "What's up, you lot?"

"Why didn't you tell us, America?" Norway was the first to speak- his voice was quiet but dripping with ire.

"About what?" It came out before he could stop it; America was too used to checking and double-checking before getting himself into trouble.

"You know what, America!" Belgium hissed, sitting back with an aggravated sigh.

"What is the point of this organisation if you do not tell us things that are so important, Alfred?" Francis spat, the Frenchman's usual jovial air replaced with fiery indignation. "We could have all been killed!"

"We had it under control." Lied Alfred. "There wasn't a moment it went out of our control."

"Oh? Really? Because twenty communist ships heading for Cuba, with a missile base being built there and a communist government practically on your shores isn't what I'd call under control!" Demark spat, hitting his hands on the table and standing up.

"Denmark…" Norway pulled at his sleeve urgently, and the nation sighed and slumped back into his chair.

"Why didn't you tell us, America?" Ludwig said in a controlled tone; he was still technically partially the bespectacled nation's property, but he was just as much a member of this Organisation anyway.

"Didn't you think we could help?" Northern Italy asked, eyes wide.

"That bastard's too dim, brother, leave it." Romano tugged at Feliciano's sleeve.

"I don't get why you couldn't tell us." Iceland's stare, as usual, was distant, but the meaning was all too clear.

"If this is part of your stupid hero complex thing, I'm disgusted." Francis spat, taking another swig of the wine on the table before him- straight from the bottle. Uh oh.

"America- why did you take your missiles from my house anyway?" Turkey asked, sitting forwards. Greece beside him shuffled nervously.

"Why shouldn't I? They were mine." America said, the turn of the conversation making him nervous. Nobody was supposed to know about that, or the deal with Ivan's boss about its removal!

"Never mind those now, what I wish to know is why we were not informed!" Francis' tone was getting angrier, his voice getting louder.

"We didn't see the need." Alfred said probably the worst thing he could have.

"QUOI?!" France seemed to explode, leaping to his feet and sending his chair skittering backwards. "Are you really so dim, America, that you do not realise why we are here? It seems we are no more than a backing gang for you, this organisation! Well, the great Republic of France does not make alliances such as this to be associated with liars and cheats! People who hide things from their supposed friends are not welcome in my borders, and I shall not endure such nonsense!" grabbing the bottle of wine from the table, Francis Bonnefoy turned his back on the table and stalked to the door of the room.

"Francis, wait! We can talk about this!" called America, also on his feet. Francis shot a glare over his shoulder, shooting straight through America's head like an arrow.

"Do not use my name with such familiarity, you bastard. I am no longer your slave." He spat vehemently, slamming the door behind him as he left. America's knees felt weak and he collapsed back into his chair.

"Let's take a break." Canada muttered with a small frown, anxious to check on his former guardian, knowing how offended he had been. As the nations bustled out, muttering their respective insults, only two remained seated; Alfred, who had buried his head in his hands, and Arthur Kirkland.

"Are you pissed at me too, Artie?" mumbled Alfred once the door shut with a _thud_. The gentleman sighed, his teacup meeting its saucer with a discordant _clink_ as he fixed his green eyes on the taller nation.

"Haven't I always told you not to use such vulgar language?" Arthur said, straightening up his already rod-straight back. "And, since you asked, I'm not 'pissed at you', or whatever you yanks say nowadays. I'm disappointed, I'm offended and I feel betrayed, Alfred. But I'm not 'pissed' at you. Though exactly how I could be drunk _at_ you is beyond me." Each of England's words stung, almost making America physically wince as he heard them. Arthur was offended- it wasn't a rare occurrence, but he usually had some sense of humour about these things. Now, however, he was as deadly serious as he had ever been.

"I'm sorry."

"Do you even realise how foolish you were, America? You could have gotten us all killed!" Arthur's voice was shaking with barely contained rage. "We made NATO so we could stop Communism together, as a team, like a family. You're a member of my family, Alfred, and yet you won't tell me when something goes wrong. You needed help on this occasion."

"But thing is, Artie, I didn't. I fixed it, didn't I? And how long was it before you told me everything about yourself?"

"This is completely different, don't you dare bring _my_ past into this!"

"It was decades before I even knew you had been a pirate- even longer before you told me about the other places! India, Hong Kong, Australia; Africa, for God's sakes! You didn't even mention anywhere there, or what you did to them!"

When America stopped, he realised he was on his feet again, tears brimming in his eyes, hands flat on the table, face nose-to-nose with Arthur's own. He drew back slowly, his breathing seeming obtrusively loud in the silence. Arthur sighed.

"Fine. Enjoy your denial. But you need us, Alfred. You need us, and you'll realise this some day." Arthur sighed, finishing his tea and standing up. His chair squealed indignantly as he pushed it back.

"But I..."

"You are a dim imbecile, Alfred." Arthur hissed, biting back other curses unsuccessfully. "If only you knew how fucking dangerous Ivan is... Get it into your thick skull, you sodding, gitfaced wanker. We're supposed to help you."

Alfred clenched his shaking fists. Heroes don't cry. Heroes don't cry. "...Artie?"

"No, America." Arthur looked back at his ex-colony, his seemingly constant facade of heroism dissolving slowly but surely. The use of his formal name made the American's fractured heart crack a little more. "Francis isn't coming back."


	2. Bonus Chapter! FrUK

A/N: No, you're right, I never do stories longer than one chapter- this is on a whim! I'm completely unaware of the TRUE reaction of the UK to France's leaving NATO, but here's my Hetalia-ified version of it. FrUK for Maru-chan! ^_^

"Francis?" The island nation's voice was unusually quiet; it was clear he was worried about the nation sat outside on the bus stop a few feet away. The rain was pouring, drumming indistinguishable rhythms on the plastic roof that shielded the Frenchman, and Arthur spoke from within the porch-like area outside the door to their meeting rooms.

"You know why I am doing this, Arthur." Francis didn't move his blue eyes from his feet, and Arthur thought he could see a glimmer of disappointment beyond the inebriated haze that filled them.

"Then there's no chance you'll change your mind?" Arthur asked, and there was no answer but a sigh. The Englishman could feel frustration building up in his chest. "Look, Francis..." He had to do something, anything, just to try to convince that bloody wine-swilling bastard to give Alfred one last chance...

Before he knew what he was doing, Arthur dashed through the rain and slipped under the shelter- just because he was used to the rain, it didn't mean he had to spend more time than necessary in it. Francis, eyes wide in groggy surprise, stood up.

"Rosbif, you can't change my mind." Francis sighed, lifting a hand and absently toying with a wayward wisp of his old friend's hair. Arthur huffed and batted him away with a glare.

"Don't do this, Francis. He's still just a kid. Give him some support, would you?" At this, the Frenchman snorted.

"When are you going to realise, Arthur?" Francis shook his head, blue eyes slowly turning to survey the hammering rain outside their tiny, sheltered oasis. "It's been a long time since Alfred was a child. Both he and Matthew have grown up. It's not the first mistake he has made, and I am certain it shall not be the last one. You are having trouble not seeing him through rose-tinted glasses."

The Englishman also turned his attention to the rain that surrounded them, silent for once, his lover's words churning through his mind. Suddenly, he felt a hand under his chin, Francis' hot breath on his cheek. He turned his head slowly to meet the Frenchman's eyes; they were filled with deep-running hope.

"Come with me, Arthur." Francis said quietly, brushing the island nation's wet hair from his temple. For a second, England's eyes slipped closed, and then his head and shoulders slumped.

"You know my answer, Francis." Arthur's eyes opened again, and they seemed engrossed in his feet, the pavement- anything but the Frenchman before him. Francis sighed as the roar of an engine drew closer.

"That's my bus, Arthur. I won't be coming back." He slurred quietly, pressing his lips to the island nation's forehead, causing a cascade of the stench of wine to roll down Arthur's face and chest.

"Stay." Arthur caught Francis' hand in his own and gripped as tightly as he had rigging and sail ropes. "Please, you idiotic frog, stay."

"Why do you make everything harder for yourself, rosbif?" sighed France, looking away, unable to bear to look at his old friend. "It will get no easier. As long as you are with him, you will never be treated as his father again."

And, as the island nation watched Francis pull away on the bus that took him anywhere but here, where he should be, he found himself realising something terrifying. All that work he had done? Those scars and those sacrifices? They had come to nothing.

He was alone, once more. And no amount of wishing was going to bring his empire back to him.

"Damn it, you beardy-faced frog..." cursed Arthur, sitting down heavily and slumping forwards, head slipping into his hands. He wasn't in control. He would never again be in control.

And that scared him.


End file.
